


run like a river to the sea

by cicak



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: 47 pov, F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, better make the most of it, big dick 47, diana's yacht, tactical wetsuit, we've only got twenty minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: Just your run of the mill "I thought you were in danger so I broke into your yacht and you were sunbathing in the nude and well there’s no one here..." story.
Relationships: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood
Comments: 19
Kudos: 104





	run like a river to the sea

The sun is beating down but it’s early summer in the Mediterranean, so despite the fact that he is sweltering in his wetsuit, 47 knows the water will be freezing. There’s a boat a kilometer out that the marine traffic app on his phone tells him is the _Jean Danjou_, registered out of Monaco to one of Diana’s known (to him) aliases. His zodiac is bobbing delicately on the mostly flat water, and it really is a beautiful day to be at sea.

It’s been barely three hours of watching, but he knows something is up. 

The _Jean Danjou_ isn’t a normal yacht, much as its owner isn’t a normal woman who owns a yacht. The files he..._liberated_...from the ICA’s servers state it has a crew of three, two inflatable boats of its own, one of which he saw all three staff taking to the mainland 45 minutes ago. Suspicious. Protocol states that one of them should always stay onboard should a VIP be using it. ICA staff don’t usually make those kinds of mistakes.

There’s a glint of something on the deck, and although he can’t see what it is even through the scope of his sniper rifle, and even though he hasn’t seen anything there, he trusts his instinct. Taking a deep breath, 47 launches himself overboard in a perfect dive, leaving barely a ripple, the wetsuit keeping him nothing more than another shape moving in the deep dark water.

The tide’s on his side, and he cuts easily through the slack water towards the yacht. To keep his advantage he swims underwater until his lungs burn as hard as his muscles before surfacing calmly to breathe deep straight down into his belly, and then diving under again. Each time he surfaces for breath he takes stock of any change on the yacht, but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of anything happening. The glint is there sometimes, but its not consistent, and even after several rounds of surveillance he can’t work out what it is. Still, the lack of movement and noise means he’s still got time.

All in, it’s ten minutes of swimming to get to the yacht. He takes a moment to scope it out from a few meters out. There’s only two points of potential entry without specialist equipment, a loading bay towards the rear and a discreet ladder near the prow. 

He takes the ladder, climbing as quietly as possible up the side of the boat towards the raised deck. There’s still no sign of movement. He doesn’t think he’s got it wrong, but by all records Diana should be here, and alone, abandoned by her staff for some unknown reason. That’s enough of a reason. 

He jumps over the safety barrier and lands silently on the decking. Thankfully, by the exit point there’s a large equipment box, probably full of fishing rods and the like, perfectly placed to crouch behind and get his bearings. It’s quiet for a moment, and he breaths as quietly as he can, and despite all his rationale, it’s reassuring for his inner doubting Thomas that the first thing he hears is the click of a safety being released, closely followed by a confident voice calling out “Stay back. My team have been reported and will be here -- wait, 47? Is that you?”

He stands up from his crouch and sees her standing there, naked as the day she was born, a sleek standard issue firearm cocked confidently in her hands. Diana looks at him, then swears and turns away from him to put down the gun and grab the towel lying on...oh. He takes in the whole situation in front of him. The source of the glinting was probably the book with a shiny silver cover, or maybe the metal frame of the sun lounger it is lying on, or even the large glass of ice water sweating in the sun next to the large bottle of factor 20 with the cap flicked open. 

All signs pointing to Diana dismissing her staff for a few hours to have some...privacy.

He turns back towards the sea as Diana wraps the towel around herself, muttering under her breath, obviously embarrassed and disgruntled from being disturbed.

“I’m sorry. False alarm” he says, and moves to jump back into the cool, welcoming abyss.

“Wait.” Diana says, and she sighs as he turns back around.

“You should at least drink some water. Maybe reapply your sunscreen at least before you skulk off. It’s very dehydrating, swimming, and the UV forecast was unforgiving this morning.

She leans over to pour him a glass, and then walks over to where he’s awkwardly still standing, dripping onto the decking. 

The glass is cool and he’s suddenly incredibly thirsty. She was right, he needed it. She always knows what he needs. 

“Why did you come?” she asks as he gulps down the water. She takes the glass off him, places it down, and then folds her arms in front of her chest.

“I thought I saw something. Your crew, leaving. Something glinting. I was worried.”

“They left hours ago, 47. How long have you been watching me? Did someone put you up to this?”

“A few hours, but no, this is just something I needed to do myself.”

“Well.” she says, but she’s smiling a bit now, looking fond the way she does sometimes. “As you can see, I’m fine. Now, unless there’s something else?”

There’s something in the way she says it, that isn’t like anything he’s heard from her before. She teases him sometimes, drops innuendos on long missions when the tension is getting high, but this is something else. She looks pleased, a little appraising. 

It’s probably the first time in their long association that they’ve been truly alone. No one else was watching the yacht. 

“You’ve come awfully far.” Diana continues, and he can hear her mind whirring the way it does when she’s making adjustments to a mission. “Are you _sure _there wasn’t another reason you’ve been watching me? Sitting out in the hot sun, watching me through binoculars. Hoping to catch a glimpse, perhaps?”

Holding his gaze resolutely, there’s a long moment before Diana reaches up and releases the knot on her towel, letting it fall away. 

He can’t help but notice she’s a natural redhead. 

“Now or never”, she says, and her voice is deeper, breathier than usual. “I pressed the panic button when I heard you climbing up. The crew will be back within 20 minutes.” 

He steps into her space, and she reaches behind him to grasp the zip on his wetsuit with her strong hands, and he feels it intimately as she drags it slowly, tooth by tooth, down the whole length of his spine. She’s pressed to the front of him, completely nude and warm from the sun, the swell of her breasts intoxicating against the thumping of his heart, and it’s easy to bring his hands around her they way he’s never allowed himself to dream of, to finally feel the curve of her small waist and the softness of her skin under his hands, and finally lean down, and finally, finally kiss her.

He probably tastes of salt, but she tastes of sun-warmth and coconut and her mouth is as cold as the early summer ocean. Her hair is down, brushing her shoulders from where she’s let it out from her usual prim chignon. She kisses him back and from the shape of her mouth against his he knows she’s smiling, pleased at these turn of events.

She pulls away from him just long enough to get her hands under the neck of his wetsuit and begin to tug it down. Its tight, designed to help him cut the smoothest of lines through choppy water, and it takes him considerable time and effort to get into it whenever he has to for a mission. Diana grunts with the effort, unable to move it more than a few centimeters, before giving up and instead running her hands down the front of his body, tracing the lines of his chest down to where he’s unmistakably hard and yearning for her beneath 7mm of high-performance neoprene. 

She looks up at him through her lashes as she strokes the outline of his cock and doesn’t need to say anything to motivate him to strip out of the wetsuit in world-record time. 

She laughs as he steps out of it with as much grace as anyone ever manages to get out of a wetsuit, and sighs contentedly as he gathers her back into his arms, kissing her deeply, pressing his cool, clammy body against her warmth. He wants her so much, wants to take his time, wishes that it was a different situation. 

“Fifteen minutes” she murmurs against his lips. “What ever shall we do with that time?”

“Is there a bed?” he asks, but he’s already walking her backwards towards the sun lounger and helping her sit down on it. 

He wants her to recline, but instead she leans forward and takes the head of his cock in her beautiful, smiling mouth, and he has to lock his knees to stop himself from falling over. He catches himself slightly, puts his hands on her head and takes a moment - well, a hundred moments to be precise - to enjoy every sensation as she sucks him down, humming sweet, pleased noises to herself.

Her mouth is beautiful, and her tongue strong as she works the head round and round, riding the ridge and pressing her beautifully manicured hand to his balls and god, it’s going to be over way too soon if she continues that way. This isn’t what he wants, well, this isn’t all he wants. There’s only...just over thirteen minutes, and thirteen minutes isn’t enough time - thirteen hours isn’t enough time for what he wants to do with her. 

“Diana”, his voice is even raspier than usual. “Lean back” he says. “I want -”

She groans as she pulls off him like it's killing her as much as it hurts him to lose the stimulation. “Of course,” she says, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Eleven minutes isn’t very long.”

“I make it thirteen” he says, dropping to his knees and gently pulling her legs apart as she leans back on her elbows.

“Oh well, I defer to your superior timekeeping,” she says, her voice getting breathier and her legs lifting up to frame his face as he leans in and tastes her, finally, with the broad brush of his tongue, and she sighs and flops back with a moan.

She’s so wet and sensitive and he can feel how much noise she’s making as much as he can hear it, as he kisses her lush like how he kissed her mouth a few minutes ago, with all the yearning and the history and desire he’s repressed. He works her clit long and slow, taking his time, getting soaked through with her displacing the seawater in his pores and thankful for his superior lung capacity for the second time today. She’s oh, delicious in that human way that bypasses normal descriptions of taste and goes somewhere deeper and primal, right into the lizard part of his brain, sweet and luscious and decadent. 

He uses his hands, teasing her open with a couple of fingers, his hand huge against her, but she’s soft and succulent inside, strong muscles working and he feels her start to come before she gets loud, and she does get loud, moaning and keening as he sucks her clit and feels her try and break his fingers in the best possible way.

“I make it three minutes,” she whispers through her orgasm-dry throat, as he feels the last aftershock clutch helplessly at his soaked fingers. “Do it. I want you.”

Mercifully, that’s all the time and encouragement he needs. She wraps herself around him as he slides his dick right into the heart of her, bottoming out easily as she gasps in delight and kisses his right ear, whispers about how he feels so hard right there, how she’s so full and she had no idea, god, the _girth _of you 47, oh sweet lord, oh yes, oh god, next time- next time-I’m going to take my _time_”

He comes with a roar and three long pulses just at the thought that there might even be a next time, and thankfully it’s drowned out by the corresponding roar of the outboard motor as the crew approaches the yacht. There’s shouting, they’re shouting Diana’s name and he can hear their footsteps on the aft of the yacht, so he kisses her, holding his place for next time, pulls out and in a couple of steps he’s gone, grabbing his sodden pile of a wetsuit as he goes, diving into the water, breaching the surface with nary a splash.

The crew find their boss where they left her, asleep in the sun wrapped in a towel, looking a little pinker than when they left her, but nonetheless no worse for wear. Just a false alarm, they conclude, before going down below deck. 

**Author's Note:**

> So turns out I have a lot of feelings about that tactical wetsuit? Thanks ioi for finally making it an unlock. 
> 
> I'm back on tumblr despite being in PhD hell, so come and scream with me about how much 47 and Diana need to bone at [cicaklah.tumblr.com](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also if you liked what you read, why not try my other Hitman fic, [even steak don't cry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083105) for more feelings about 47's outfits.


End file.
